Waiting To Exhale
by Please.Insert.Name
Summary: Hotch never wanted to have this conversation, but in facing Morgan's past will he also face his own? Spoilers for Profiler, Profiled.


_No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist _  
><em>Wolfs-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; <em>  
><em>Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd <em>  
><em>By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; <em>  
><em>Make not your rosary of yew-berries, <em>  
><em>Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be <em>  
><em>Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl <em>  
><em>A partner in your sorrow's mysteries; <em>  
><em>For shade to shade will come too drowsily, <em>  
><em>And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. <em>  
><em>~ John Keats - Ode on Melancholy<em>

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><p>Seeing the rage mingled with the pain in Morgan's eyes made Hotch mentally wince. However, before he voiced his concern, or assured the younger agent that he hadn't heard his confrontation with Buford - something they both would know was a lie - Gideon had walked out of the sports hall, and with that, he had taken the opportunity away.<p>

The moment had passed. History to those who had experienced it. If only it was that easy.

However, the opportunity came once more. They were at the memorial/funeral. The little boy who Morgan had mentored was laid to rest, but he was the only one.

The community were still reeling. How could Carl Buford be a paedophile? Many refused to believe it, and there was an undercurrent of tension amongst everyone that day, praying on their fears and insecurities. Had their children also been subjected to the abuse? These were questions that they never even knew if they wanted to answers to.

Morgan was relieved. He was glad to have brought the killer to justice, but he was anything but relaxed. His secrets had been bared in front of two men whom he respected, and now Hotch knew he was wondering if that respect had been lost. It wasn't a rational thought, in fact, it only made Hotch respect him more, but even after all these years Derek Morgan's insecurities were still there, and this had only brought them to the forefront of his mind.

He was the only team member there apart from Morgan. The others had wanted to give him his space, leave the Agent to deal with his issues. Alone.

It wasn't the way to comfort, and it most certainly wasn't the way to help anyone battle their demons, Elle had shown them that much. Morgan needed to know he wasn't alone. He needed to know that it never affected they way they thought about him. And since no one else would do it, it was up to Hotch to tell him.

Catching Morgan's eye, he walked over to a bench at the edge of the graveyard. Willows were planted around the perimeter, their long branches shielding the graves from the elements. Protecting the dead, but not the living.

Morgan sat down next to him, his eyes cast on the pebble strewn ground. Mourners milled past them, some teary-eyed, some trying to be strong. What had happened here would not be forgotten, it would be emblazoned in everyone's memories. Just one more reason not to trust anyone. Just another reason to isolate yourself from the community. Hotch would be damned if he let Morgan do that.

Surprisingly, it was Morgan who opened up the painful dialogue. His voice was broken, lost, and Hotch thought for the first time he was seeing the man beneath the cocky façade that fooled so many.

"When will it go away, Hotch?"

"It won't. It has influenced all your decisions up to this point, and it will continue to do so afterwards. Our experiences pave the way of our future, changing our psyche, and try as you might you will not be able to break free from it," his voice came out rougher than he intended. He remembered when he had asked himself that same question, but cases with children were enough to tell him that his past would always be a part of him. He just had to utilise it to make him a better agent instead of a crippled man trapped in his own past.

Morgan, forever the profiler, noticed the tone to his voice, the tone that told him that he was speaking words from a much more darker place than a guidance book.

"What happened to you?"

And there it was, the question he had dreaded for almost forty years. It seemed that more than one person would face their past today.

"My father," the answer was simple, short, but in two words he had managed to convey the horror of his childhood. Morgan knew he wouldn't give more details, this was about him after all, and far be it for Hotch to weigh him down with even more grief.

"How did you cope?"

"I didn't. I tried to get over it, but in the end I realised that there would always be a part of my mind that carried the memories. Instead of being ashamed, I used it to make me stronger. By being able to go into the victim's-"

"I'm not a victim," interjected Morgan, his words laced with loathing, and a self-hatred so strong, that it made Hotch doubt for a moment that this was helping.

"You are, and the sooner you accept it the better. You were abused by a man you thought you could trust. Tell me that isn't the definition of a victim," replied Hotch, forcing his agent to meet his eyes.

"I don't like thinking of myself in that way," bit back Morgan.

"No one does, but it's just a term. Instead of shrinking away you can use this to make you stronger. Without Buford you wouldn't be where you are, you wouldn't have saved the children of this community, and the countless people in our cases over the years. It is a part of you whether you want to acknowledge it or not."

"He never made me who I am," whispered Morgan, the raw emotion in his voice surprising Hotch slightly.

"He never, your reaction to what he did has made you the capable man you are today. You should be proud of who you are."

A breeze rustled a few of the fallen leaves, sending a chill through the graveyard, and causing both men to wrap their jackets around them a little tighter. The sun was setting, slowly descending, and casting a warm glow across the skyline.

A warmth that these men were impervious to.

Neither one of them moved. They were stuck there, trapped in this conversation that was bringing up memories both men wished they could forget, but knew they wouldn't.

The silence was oppressing, blanketing them, and Hotch knew that Morgan was still processing. He would speak when he was ready.

The sun had almost fully set when he finally spoke up.

"Sometimes I just feel like it's crushing me, y'know. I should be able to deal with this, I should be strong, instead of being reduced to a scared little boy at the mention of his name. I had thought that his arrest would make it easier, but it's still there, and I can't help it," the last part was gruff, and Hotch knew that Morgan was trying to repress his emotions.

"It does get easier, I promise, but you can't hide from it. If you need to talk then come to me, or someone you trust-"

"I trust you, Hotch," whispered Morgan, the words barely distinguishable from the sounds of their surroundings. An owl hooted nearby, it's cry echoing across the grounds.

"And I you," replied Hotch quietly.

"Thank you, I needed this," said Morgan after a pause, leaning back, stretching his tense muscles. His voice was filled with so much more than gratitude, but Hotch brushed it off. They had had their talk, now it was time for recovery.

As the sun disappeared, both men watched as the night descended, bringing with it the moon, and the first speckle of stars. The celestial orbs seemed fresher, rejuvenated, but they never really noticed. Instead, both were dealing with their issues, knowing that they would never really be free of them.

But still, they waited to exhale, forever hopeful that one day their ghosts would be vanquished.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This was for the Chit Chat On Author's Corner Writers of the Silver Screen challenge. I chose 'Waiting to Exhale' and 'Aaron Hotchner' and my surprise character was 'Derek Morgan'. I've never really written Morgan before, or a whole story revolving around him, so I hope this is satisfactory :)_

_On a random note I was really chuffed I got the Keat's stanza in. The meaning - or what I took from it - was not to forget your suffering (Lethe), or wish to escape them through death (all the plants mentioned contain lethal poison), but to take the good with the bad rather than just focus on the negative. I would have loved to use the whole poem, but that's going overboard!  
><em>

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds._

_I apologise for any spellng and/or grammar mistakes contained within this story._


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